


keep a place for me

by actualflower



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, and that's what im here for, edit: we're not just fluff anymore boys, him n the wizard man need to be happy together, listen alright there needs to be more love for my boy jarett alright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8192425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualflower/pseuds/actualflower
Summary: jarett howarth isn't blind, alright? he's just observant. that's the only reason he seems to always know where that wizard, shaun gilmore, is. that's it.





	1. just tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guard captain fluff. un-beta'd.
> 
> 10/3 edit: very minor, mostly just added capitalization because if this is gonna be A Thing, i'm gonna do it right for these Soft, Sweet Boys.

Jarett’s not _blind_ , alright? He’s incredibly perceptive. Vox Machina wouldn’t have hired him otherwise.

That’s the _only_ reason he seems to always know where that damned wizard Shaun Gilmore is. That’s _it_. (He patiently ignores the schoolyard tittering of Cordell and Shayne. Instead, he snaps at them to ‘ _get your heads out of your asses, you bastards, because the dragons certainly don’t give a shit about your gossip._ ’ It’s a bit of a low blow, he knows, but - it bothers him in a way little else does, and he’d prefer to not think about the why of it all - much less the _whom_.

Besides, Cordell and Shayne always roll their eyes at him whenever he does. No hard feelings, then.)

Either way, if anyone in Whitestone ever needs to know where Gilmore is, Jarett’s usually the one who knows. No one figures this out until at least the second week of their occupation of the city, and then everyone seems to be asking him where Gilmore is.

The man in question only ever seems amused by it all. “Seems you know where I am better than I do, sometimes, dear Jarett.”

Jarett scowls. “I’m only taking care of my charge.” And when Gilmore became his charge, he doesn’t know, but it only frustrates him further. The beautiful man laughs, voice like tinkling windchimes, and rests a hand on his shoulder. The touch is fleeting, but Jarett feels it like a brand, even through his armor. Silently, he wonders why his own trademark charisma seems to flee him when Gilmore is around.

“I’m glad someone’s always looking out for me, then.” And then the bastard winks, and Jarett’s suddenly glad for his dark complexion. Otherwise, he’d be blushing like a teenager, and why the hell this infuriatingly lovely man makes him blush he’d rather not think about.

Jarett uses the weak-sounding excuse of a patrol to escape Gilmore. When Sherri passes him by next, she gives him a soft smile and a ‘thank you’. Jarett’s a little confused, seeing as how she’s usually staring down daggers at anyone else that gets within a foot of Gilmore, but he takes it in stride.

* * *

 

When the assassins attack, Jarett feels it like a blow to his gut. He was on watch, patrolling the grounds of the castle - he should’ve heard them, or seen them, or been able to do _something_ -

Instead, he shows up too many minutes late, and one of his employers almost dies because of it.

(His heart clenches in his chest when he hears report of other assassins, even in the town. The breath dies in his throat when he hears Gilmore’s name, and the only thing that stops him from running out of the castle that second is seeing the man himself running into the castle moments later.)

The pang of failure sings low in his stomach and sours him like bad wine. He goes through the rest of the day doubling down on the security of the town, organizing patrols and training and schedules like a man possessed. He works with the town militia to begin getting something like a functioning army started, and he supposes they’re getting there, but he’s never been part of something this large and this organized. He smiles and jabs and jests with them all like the charismatic captain he is, but when he beds down for the night, it’s a long time before he sleeps.

Just as he begins to feel himself slip into unconsciousness, there’s a knock at the door. He drags himself out of bed, slips a random pair of leggings over his naked lower half, and grabs the knife underneath his pillow before opening the door with his best and brightest smile.

He’s surprised when it’s Gilmore at the door. “Oh - Gilmore?”

“Hello, Jarett.” His smile is warm, and his eyes are warmer. “I trust I did not wake you?”

“No, I-” He surreptitiously tucks the knife into the waistband of his pants. The metal is cold, but at least he won’t forget it’s there. “Just getting ready to bed down, in fact.” A small lie, but it’s not like his sleep would be any more restful than it’s been for the past few nights. Besides, Gilmore is much better company than his dreams.

Gilmore looks past him, further into the room, and asks, voice quiet, “Would you mind if I spoke with you a moment, friend?”

Jarett looks about himself, glances back at the room - it’s a simple room, sparing in design, with a single table and chair and bed and a small chest at the foot for his belongings. He’s not particularly messy, but there are clothes strewn about. “I don’t see why not.” He guesses that Gilmore will tell him what he wants once he sits down, so he doesn’t ask. No point to if they’re going to be talking.

Jarett opens the door wide, ushers Gilmore in. Lights the lone candle on the table. Gestures to the chair or the bed with a wave, and stands when Gilmore chooses the chair. When Gilmore raises an eyebrow, Jarett says “If I sat on that bed right now, I’d probably fall asleep.”

He also carefully pulls his knife free and sets it back under his pillow; when Gilmore raises an eyebrow once more, Jarett shrugs. “Never hurts to be prepared.”

"I suppose it doesn’t, does it?” Gilmore says, smile dancing on his lips. “Speaking of being prepared-”

Jarett steels himself. He’s not surprised Gilmore’s giving him this lecture - he was one of the people targeted, was even _impersonated_ by the damn demon; Jarett’s been expecting a dressing-down from someone at this point for his failure. He can’t say he entirely expected Gilmore to be the one to give it, but hell. It has to come from someone.

(His heart still twinges painfully. To know he failed is one thing, but to be told it, by the man that he seems to have some kind of - strange hang-up about, is another. It’s a wound that cuts a little deeper in his chest.)

“-No one was prepared for that, were we? What with all the dragons about, no one thought to ward against _fiends_ , of all things.” Gilmore’s brow furrows. “I’m honestly not surprised. What else will Vox Machina bring for us to deal with, hm?”

Jarett - doesn’t speak. He was expecting - well. He was expecting to be told to work harder. Do better. _Be_ better. Not - this.

Some of his confusion must show on his face, because Gilmore chuckles. “I thought so.” His smile becomes achingly sweet, and that twinge in his heart pulls in a different direction, not so much apprehension as - something he dare not name. Not right now. “You’ve been running yourself ragged, dear captain; not that the rest of us haven’t as well, mind you, but you seem to be taking all the blame for this event on your own shoulders.”

Jarett’s brow furrows. He’s just about to speak that yes, it really _is_ his fault for this - this is exactly what he’s supposed to prevent, after all, what he’s been hired to do - but his voice catches in his throat when Gilmore stands and crosses the space between them in two small strides, the rich purple of his night robe catching the flickering candlelight. Gilmore snares one of Jarett’s hands in his own, pulling them from where they’d crossed over his bare chest. He looks down the scant few inches that make him taller than Gilmore, sees those dark eyes peering up at him underneath full lashes, and doesn’t move an inch as Gilmore leans up and presses a gentle kiss against his cheek.

When Gilmore pulls away, Jarett still hasn’t breathed - just stood there, leaned against the wall, stock-still, eyes wide.

“The only one to blame for this is that bastard rakshasa himself.” Gilmore’s voice is honey-and-wine, and Jarett can almost feel the puff of it against his collarbone. “You can’t blame yourself any more than the rest of us, dear Jarett.”

“...I suppose you’re right.” His voice takes far too long to find him, and when it does, it is hoarse. “As always, Gilmore.”

“Call me Shaun,” Gilmore - _S_ _haun_ \- replies, and squeezes Jarett’s hand in his own once before he steps back and away. “I suppose I should leave you to rest, then,” he murmurs, and reaches for the door. Shaun turns to look at Jarett one last time, smile on his face. “Rest well, dear captain. You’ll need your strength.”

And with that, he’s gone, with a wink Jarett wasn’t entirely sure was there. Jarett doesn’t move for a long while. When he does, it’s with a shake of his head and a smile curled on his lips. He snuffs the candle on the table and eases onto the bed.

“... _W_ _izards_ ,” he mutters, simply because there’s nothing else to say, and pointedly doesn’t think about why all of his svelte eloquence seems to leave him whenever Shaun is around. Instead, he closes his eyes, and dreams of a honey-and-wine voice and dark, dark eyes dancing in candlelight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gilmore, immediately afterwards:
> 
>  _what in the absolute fuckery did i just do_ , he thinks, as he slides down the wall with his head in his hands and a look of abject terror on his face, because we all know that gilmore's a flustery bab and it was only by the grace of the gods that he kept his cool when he talked to jarett. gilmore's a fucking nerd, y'all. a huge bookworm nerd with impeccable taste and style and flamboyance. that doesn't mean he doesn't fluster like a debutante.
> 
> anyway
> 
> will there be a second chapter??? ~it is a mystery~ (honestly tho maybe?? depending on response to this i might so... if u would like me to continue this... utterly ridiculous thing, please tell me so. leave me a comment. throw urself in my inbox and shout at me to continue this, bc i know if someone doesn't it'll just sit untouched on focuswriter)
> 
> thank you for reading!!! kudos, bookmarks, and comments are always adored <3
> 
> work and chapter title from Self Control by Frank Ocean.


	2. eventually, eventually, yes

When Jarett wakes, the sun is just beginning to peek into the window of his small room, cresting over the mountain peaks that surround the town. Which, of course, means that he’s terribly late waking up.

It’s not like he didn’t expect to wake up late after the - _interesting_ night he had, he supposes, but that doesn’t stop him from almost tripping over himself in his haste to get dressed.

He makes it just in time for the tail-end of breakfast in the kitchens of the castle, bread and cheese and the picked-over half-empty bowl of fruit in the kitchen all that remains. He grabs an apple because it’s there and leans against the counter, satisfied to take a moment for himself. It’s late enough in the morning that no one else will be coming down to get breakfast, at least -

-At least, until Shayne and Cordell both mosey into the kitchen with bleary eyes and matching looks of exhaustion. As soon as Cordell’s eyes find Jarett, the half-orc grins.

“Mornin’, boss,” Cordell says, cheeky smirk and all. Shayne just gives him a nod and makes her way to the fruit bowl. Jarett wishes Cordell had half the sense she had.

“What is it, you bastard.” Jarett doesn’t bother making it sound like a question.

“Nothing, _dear Jarett._ ” Jarett arches an eyebrow at the tone, but doesn’t interrupt. “ _Absolutely_ nothing.”

Jarett sighs. The furrow of his brow deepens. It’s far too early in the morning for him to be this exasperated yet. “Out with it, Cordell. There’s something you’re dying for me to hear.”

Cordell shrugs. “I mean, it’s really not that big a deal - me and Shayne, we were on watch last night like usual, and we saw a certain wizard doing his best to sneak out of the soldier’s barracks last night-”

Jarett’s hand stills from where it’s bringing his apple up to his mouth. He instantly resumes the action, acting nonplussed, but the momentary stop was enough to confirm whatever Cordell was thinking.

“ _I knew it,_ ” he stage-whispers to Shayne, who has the good sense to not say a thing and just grunt noncommitally.

Jarett grits his teeth and takes a savage bite of the apple in his hands. He doesn’t know why this implication bothers him so much - he’s friends with Gilmore, he thinks, at least that - so why is he so bothered that people think they might be spending time together?

Still, he schools his tone to careful teasing rather than biting sardonics when he speaks next. “That has to be a first, then - you actually found something on watch? I’m so very _proud_ , Cordell.”

Shayne snorts. Jarett thinks there’s a reason she’s always been his favorite.

Cordell pouts. “Low blow, sir.”

It’s Jarett’s turn to snort, now. “Maybe if you were good at your job, I wouldn’t be forced to scrape the bottom of the barrel just to make fun of you.”

He punctuates with a bite of his apple, and Cordell looks to Shayne for back-up; Shayne just grunts and keeps peeling her orange.

Jarett leaves them both in the kitchens, apple in hand. He hears the vague sound of Cordell complaining to Shayne about always being the butt of a joke, and Shayne just grunting, which makes him even more incensed. He smiles. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

* * *

 

Afternoon patrol passes as it usually does - a pleasant, if boring, walk through the town and a few hellos scattered here and about. There’s always the odd townsfolk or two that actually remember his name - mostly refugees, same as him. They’ll trade stories for a moment or two, about life here - usually always complaining about how much colder it is than back home in Emon. It makes his heart ache, but he can bear it - he knows that they’re going to get the city back. If he believes in anything, he believes in that.

Still, it startles him when a page-boy tugs at his arm, demanding attention. “Got a message f’r Mr. Gilmore, sir, from the nice lady with the horns, and they said you’d be the guy t’know where he is.”

He must mean Zahra, he thinks, and then it strikes him like a blow to the stomach - he has no clue where Gilmore is. He _always_ knows where Gilmore is, and now-

He settles the peculiar worry in his chest, and kneels to be at eye-level with the boy. “I’m sure I can deliver the message for you, kiddo.” The boy nods, clearly relieved at having the responsibility out of his hands. He passes the folded parchment to Jarett’s waiting hands, and keeps his hand out until Jarett finally slips a few silvers into his palm. He blurts out a ‘thank you, sir!’ and runs off towards the town center. Jarett smiles, but the sour feeling in his gut lingers, and soon he’s doing his best not to run as fast as he can back to the castle, patrol forgotten. If Gilmore is anywhere, he’s there.

Halfway to the castle, he catches it in the corner of his eye - when he looks up, right at the edge of his vision, there’s a strange static, as if the sky itself is vibrating like something is there, but not. It makes the worry in his stomach grow, and he abandons all pretense of not running towards the castle.

When he gets to the castle, Allura and Kima are there, along with the other strange wizard - Ash-hill? Ask-hill? - conversing in the foyer in low tones, heading for the single library. All three of them look up at Jarett’s admittedly dramatic entrance, his panting breaths the only sound in the large space for a long moment.

“...Well. Good afternoon to you all.” He bows, ever the gentleman, and rights himself quickly. Doing his best to keep his tone even and not a panicked mess like he feels, he asks them, “Have you seen Gilmore recently? I have a message for him-” He waves the parchment in his hands.

Kima and Allura look at each other for what seems far too long a time. Allura looks back at Jarett and smiles. “He should be up in one of the sitting rooms in the castle. Try the third floor. Anywhere with a balcony, I would think.”

Jarett thanks her quickly and half-runs toward the stairs.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Kima laughs. “Fuckin’ idiot. Does he not realize-?”

“Shh, love.” Allura soothes. “Let them figure it out on their own.” She leans down to press a kiss to the halfling's nose, making her smile.

Eskil groans. “There are _dragons_ , you moonstruck idiots.”

* * *

 

He’s on the third room when he finally strikes gold - he sees the silhouette of someone sitting in one of the few plush chairs left in the castle; signature purple drapes over the edge of one arm and he can see the curl of a strand of dark hair that’s escaped its bindings over the back. The chair itself is facing the window, slowly fading afternoon light highlighting the scene like a painting.

Jarett’s about to yell “Gilmore!” when he realizes just how still the room is. He doesn’t move from his place in the doorway. He almost doesn’t hear it - a quiet, shuffling snore.

He carefully steps into the room, feet whisper-silent. It takes him barely six strides to cross the room, and then he can see Gilmore’s - _Shaun’s_ \- sleeping face. Jarett has to stifle a gasp.

Shaun’s face transforms in his sleep. It’s almost like looking into the past, stealing a glimpse of a younger man - the few wrinkles that littered Shaun’s face are gone, smoothed away by the peace of rest. His snore is faint, barely audible, just a gentle snuffle that makes Jarett’s heart ache.

He stirs, barely there, and Jarett doesn’t breathe - he doesn’t want whatever spell has come over the scene to break. Still, against everything, Shaun wakes, blinking into consciousness with a doe-eyed softness that makes Jarett weak at the knees.

Shaun’s eyes light on Jarett’s, and his face, somehow, impossibly, softens even further. “Well. If I could wake to this sight everyday, then I’d be a lucky man, indeed.”

Jarett’s face heats, and a relieved smile betrays just how nervous he really was. “You wouldn’t be the first to say that,” he says, and inwardly curses himself.

“Handsome _and_ modest.” Shaun’s hand reaches for his, and Jarett reflexively offers his open palm. This makes Shaun smile, and the fluttering in his chest that hasn’t seemed to stop since he entered the room seems to pick up in his chest.

Jarett would be content with staying in this moment forever, and he doesn’t particularly feel like examining why.

“Not that I’m not infinitely pleased by your company, dear Jarett, but - might I inquire as to why you’re here?” Shaun looks up at Jarett through thick lashes, and he’s suddenly reminded of last night, of those same dark eyes framed by candlelight.

He’d completely forgotten - Jarett suddenly remembers the letter in his other hand, and he hurries to pass it to Shaun. Jarett instantly misses the weight of Shaun’s hand in his own, for reasons he can’t name.

He mutters a “Thank you, darling,” as he opens the thin white paper, quickly scanning the curling script on the page. Jarett watches as Shaun’s face transforms from pleasantly attentive to actively engaged, brow furrowing as he reads. “Oh dear. I think - Zahra needs me.”

Jarett nods, serious, and offers a hand that Shaun takes. As soon as he stands, indecision crosses Shaun’s face. He looks from the door, to Jarett, and back at the letter, before seemingly coming to a decision. “I hate to leave you so soon, but-” He drops Jarett’s hand, frown marring his lips, and Jarett wants to take his fingers and smooth his expression into a smile. “I’m afraid I’ll have to meet her alone.” Shaun offers an apologetic smile.

Jarett’s not surprised. There’s been plenty about the town that he’s not been privy to, and he’s not going to push it. Besides, there’s - there’s plenty he has to think about. More than a few things.

“I trust I’ll see you at dinner...?” Shaun trails off, hopeful grin on his face.

Jarett smiles. “I’m certain.”

Shaun must realize that he’s still holding Jarett’s hand, and a devilish smirk crosses his face. He pulls the hand to his lips, placing a delicate kiss across the knuckles. “Until then, dear captain.”

He swaggers out of the room, and Jarett stands there for a long time, thinking about purple robes and what, exactly, is making his heart beat so fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooo my god. oh my god. these two are gonna be the death of me. i've been writing this all day, and out of the outline i made for this chapter, i got through approx. a third of it. looks like we're making it a multi-chaptered fic, boys. strap in for the ~s l o w b u r n~.
> 
> anyway i'm posting this from the mechanic's bc mom's getting new tires on the car, so i hope this posts properly lmao :')
> 
> chapter title from White Ferrari by Frank Ocean.


	3. a conscience to feel ashamed

Jarett doesn’t see Gilmore for the rest of the day. He throws himself into his work, overseeing evening training and scheduling and taking up a night shift for himself, heedless of his own sleep. When dinner rolls around, he sweeps through the kitchens for something he can walk and eat (another apple, because it’s the easiest thing to come by, here), and he sweeps the pang of guilt in his chest aside at the thought of Gilmore - _Shaun_ \- waiting to see him.

Jarett doesn’t know why he’s suddenly needing the distance - he’s been more than happy to allow Shaun into his personal space; more than happy to become flustered and practically inept around the wizard whenever he draws near. Still - the need for distance coils low in his gut, and so he takes what he can get. He’ll apologize in the morning.

Night shift is boring, and exhausting, and by the time he’s back to his bunk in the wee hours of the night, Shayne looking at him faintly in concern as she takes over his shift for castle watch, he can barely speak. He strips down quickly and slides between the sheets, tossing and turning; fatigue sits heavy in his bones, but no matter how long he closes his eyes, sleep does not come. Instead, all he sees is the same vision of a man in brilliant purple robes, delicate lips pressing feather-soft kisses to his cheek; dark, heady eyes peering up through beautiful lashes; strong, competent hands wrapped around his own. He wonders what it would be like to feel those hands pressed against him, what it would feel like to have those lips against his own.

Silently, he curses the day he ever accepted the job from those bastards in Vox Machina. If he’d known that it’d end up with him here, enduring sleepless nights over that _damned_ wizard, he’d have never taken that job.

(That’s a blatant lie. He’s never had it this good, with friends and a job and people that he can count on, not like this.)

He curls close in on himself, face towards the wall and back to the room, and quietly admits, just to himself, just in the dark of night, that he might feel something for the wizard.

* * *

 

He wakes sinfully early, feeling it deep in his bones the morning-weariness that comes with too little good sleep. The sun still has not crested the mountains to peek into his room, and he dresses slowly, still half-asleep. Jarett knows there has to be some good reason he’s awake this early after taking a night shift.

He finds it when he enters the dining hall, still picking sleep from his eyes, and Kima and Allura are both wearing travelling cloaks.

“-We know they’ve gone, Gilmore, we were there. And yes, we _know_ there’s no telling when they’ll be back. But-”

“Every lead needs to be explored.” Allura’s voice is soft, soothing; ever and always the peacekeeper. “And anything that might help, well. We need everything we can get, Gilmore.”

Kima nods, and Jarett gets the distinct impression that he’s walking in on a conversation half-way through.

Gilmore is grim-faced, dark eyes cloudy with apprehension. “But - with only the two of you-?”

“We’ve done this before, Gilmore,” Kima cuts in, tone brooking no argument. She looks like she wants to say more, but Allura turns to her and whispers something that makes her face soften from steel to iron.

“It’ll be more inconspicuous with just the two of us. And Kima’s right, Gilmore - we’ve done this before. Several times.” She places a gentle hand on Gilmore’s arm, and his eyes turn watery. “Besides, we’re not exactly defenseless. We’ll be fine; we'll have Drake with us, as well. And if we’re not back in a week’s time, then-”

Kima finally looks towards the door to the dining hall, right at Jarett. He’s just standing there, not crossing the threshold, listening to what’s happening. She coughs, loudly, and Allura instantly turns. “Oh. Jarett. We thought you took the night shift; we missed you at dinner.”

Another pang of guilt, but he brushes it aside in favor of addressing the matter at hand. “You two are leaving the city?”

Kima throws her hands up in frustration. Allura, ever the diplomat, turns to speak to him. “I suppose you heard all that, then?”

“Just the important bits. I’m thinking you wanted to make it a quiet affair, as well?” Allura nods, fair skin coloring at the cheeks. “Well. You said a week’s time, right? We’ll see you then.”

Allura looks surprised for a moment, as if she wasn’t expecting such tacit support. She recovers quickly to smile at Jarett. “Thank you.”

Kima, however, was most certainly expecting a fight, and seems a little deflated to have been denied one.

Jarett walks towards the group and into the room proper as Allura resumes speaking. “Gilmore, we’ll be fine. You and Eskil can hold the barrier for a week, right?” Jarett watches Gilmore’s eyes turn to his hands where they wring and twist and pick at the nails.

“Yes,” he says, after a beat. Allura looks relieved and guilty all at once, and turns to face both of them fully, Jarett standing to Gilmore’s right.

“A week. No more.”

“No more,” Gilmore agrees, and Jarett nods. He thinks this place might fall apart if Lady Allura were gone any longer.

Kima finally speaks again, tone curt and agitated. “Alright, now that we’ve all agreed that Allura and I aren’t going to die as soon as we step out of the damn city, can we _please_ get a move on? I’d rather not repeat this process with anyone else.” She scoffs. “We already had to deal with Zahra and Eskil and Cassie and Kash. I’d rather not repeat _that,_ thank you.” Kima gives Jarett a nod, which he returns. She pulls Gilmore down and gives him a kiss on each cheek - an odd farewell, but one Jarett is familiar with. Allura gives both Gilmore and himself a hug, whispering one last “Thank you,” in his ear.

They watch the pair leave, a strange sense of heaviness infusing the air. Gilmore turns to Jarett, a peculiar look on his face. “...I missed you at dinner, dear captain.” His dark eyes are watery, and his voice sounds forced with levity.

“I’m sorry, Gilmore,” and the way he says it feels almost like he’s not just apologizing for missing dinner. “I guess the time slipped away from me.”

“So much to do, so little time,” he agrees, and then smiles. “And I thought I told you to call me Shaun?”

“You did,” Jarett replies, and then, a beat later: “Shaun.”

 _Shaun_ grins up at him, dark eyes flickering up to his own. “I don’t suppose you could make it up to me with breakfast?”

Jarett smiles. “I think that could be arranged.”

Shaun takes Jarett’s hand in his own, and Jarett lets himself be dragged into the kitchens, trailing after the wizard like there is nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing.

Jarett, when you get down to it, is actually a rather competent cook. Since they spent most of the morning talking, the already-limited cookstaff is seemingly absent - one or two linger about the kitchens, stirring slow-cooking sauces and checking roasts, but they’ve no problem with letting Jarett into their kitchens. He’s been a moderately familiar sight around them, and a few of the cooks have even badgered him into sharing some of his old Markesian recipes to add to the roster of standard Whitestone fare.

It doesn’t take long at all for him to steal a few eggs and a pan and some cheese. He sets Shaun to whipping the eggs while he heats the pan.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done this by hand since I learned magic,” Shaun mutters, and Jarett laughs.

“Have you even made eggs yourself, properly?”

Shaun sputters, indignant. “Of course I have! I-” He stops, fork clinking against the bowl. “Dear gods, you’re right, I haven’t, Sherri did all the cooking - still does, if we’re being honest; I haven’t even thought about it.” A stricken look crosses his face, and Jarett laughs, even as he pulls a knife from the wall to slice the cheese.

“There’s no shame in admitting that you can’t even make eggs, Shaun.” Jarett smiles, even as he hovers a hand over the pan to test the heat. He doesn’t think he could stop if he tried.

“There _absolutely is_.” Shaun sounds honestly perturbed, and Jarett is struck by an image of himself kissing away the furrow in Shaun’s brow. Instead, he just grabs the bowl from Shaun’s hands and goes to find some fat to grease the pan. It only takes him a moment, but as he returns, he sees Shaun flicking his fingers towards the counter, and Jarett notices that both the knife and cheese are now floating. He watches the knife move just as Shaun moves his fingers, and a slice falls to the counter, joining several others.

“Having fun?” he asks, setting the bowl next to the pan.

“Always when I’m with you, dear Jarett,” he purrs, and Jarett blames the heat of the pan on how hot his collar feels.

He fixes the omelet quickly, the familiar motions coming back to him with ease - he even flips it in the pan, to which Shaun gives him an excited clap and a “good job!”, which, in turn, makes his heart flutter. This entire situation feels so _domestic_ , and Jarett can’t help the foreboding that curls at the back of his thoughts. Something this good, this _easy_ , is never allowed to stay for long.

Still, those are thoughts for another time, and as he slides the omelette onto a plate, he lets them fade into the background. He rummages in a cupboard for a fork or two, and comes up triumphant after the third try. Neither of them move towards the dining hall, and it’s just as well - the kitchen is completely deserted at this point; it’s only the two of them and the crackle of the small fire.

Shaun is insistent that he take the first bite, so he does - it’s just eggs and cheese and a few spices he’d seen fit to throw in. Nothing fancy. Still, once Shaun takes a bite, he smiles wider than he has that morning since Jarett first saw him in the dining room.

“Handsome, modest, _and_ you can cook?” Shaun laughs, and Jarett thinks of the colored glass wind chimes that sparkled in the bazaar of Ank’Harel. “Who knew you were such a catch, Jarett?”

Jarett shrugs; he feels like if he speaks, he’ll end up saying more than is proper. More than is acceptable between friends, and he doesn’t - doesn’t want to ruin whatever is happening between them, whatever - _this_ is.

Shaun looks at him for a long moment, dark eyes searching, and sets his fork down on the plate. “Jarett, I-” he starts, but something must catch the words in his throat, because he swallows and starts again. “You know I consider you a dear friend, right?”

Jarett nods slowly, confused. He’s still holding the plate, and Shaun takes it from his hands and places it on the counter he’s leaning against before carefully taking one of Jarett’s hands in his own, twining their fingers together. Those endlessly dark eyes look up at him, and Jarett feels the blood rush to his face; he knows that, were he paler, he would be beet-red.

“I don’t think I’ve been entirely honest with you, dear Jarett,” he murmurs, low enough that Jarett has to pay close attention to catch the words - as if he’s not already locked in on every movement and every word. Jarett can feel his heart jackhammer in his chest, along with a twin rhythm of curling dread in the pit of his stomach.

A hand comes up to cradle Jarett’s face, and he can’t help the way he rests against it, strong, clever fingers framing his jaw.

Shaun’s kiss is chaste - a gentle press of lips, like satin and heaven and fire all wrapped up in something so quiet and pure it feels like Jarett doesn’t deserve it - doesn’t deserve this man’s softness, or his care, or his kindness.

Shaun pulls away, and his dark eyes are heavy, pupils blown wide, and it’s the smile that tips Jarett over the edge. That ice-cold squeeze of dread in his veins solidifies, and it feels like his heart is in his throat.

“This-” he breathes, all of it rushing out at once, “this isn’t - I can’t - this isn’t a good idea, Shaun - I’m sorry-”

The tumble of words follow him as he pulls out and away from Shaun’s arms and flees to the nearest doorway, escaping the call of “Jarett!” that trails after him. It isn’t until he’s out of the castle proper and on the road into town that he realizes he’s crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> allura and kima and drake, on the edge of the city:  
> kima: wait, allura... my idiot senses are tingling. we have to go back.  
> allura: babe, please. have faith.  
> drake: can we pls go now
> 
> but: no matter what happens, i promise you a happy ending. i promise. i don't do sad endings.
> 
> chapter title from Wither by Frank Ocean.


	4. my part of the deal

Jarett avoids Gilmore for three days. On the first, he spends the entire day with the city guard, doing everything he can. Keeper Yennen eventually sends him back to his rooms with a gentle reproach: “Jarett, this is what we’re here to do. You need not work yourself to death for our sake.” He spends the rest of the day in his rooms, alone, trying not to think at all.

* * *

The second day passes with little fanfare. He goes on his patrols, takes his meals in his rooms, tosses and turns until he finally sleeps. He passes Gilmore once, and the sharp feeling of regret that shocks through him almost makes him drop the plate in his hands. He rushes past him, further down the hall, and ignores the painful churning in his gut. When he goes to sleep, his dinner remains untouched.

* * *

On the third, he’s on patrol with a few of the guard when there’s a commotion at the Sun Tree: it’s Vox Machina, finally returned from their week-long excursion to the Feywild. He knows precious little about the place, and their general state of confusion serves as a pleasant distraction from the turmoil of his own thoughts.

He tells them of the barrier; of Allura and Kima’s departure with their friend, Drake; his own work organizing their forces; the arrival of Seeker Asum.

“Is Shaun still here, in the city?” Vax’ildan’s question rings above the few others, and Jarett’s face betrays nothing.

“Yes. He should be in council with Lady Cassandra and Seeker Asum in the castle.”

Vax’ildan nods, and conversation is swept back in the direction of dragons. Jarett is silently grateful.

When they depart for the castle, a weight seems to lift off of Jarett’s shoulders. At least their heroes are still alive. At least he has that.

Of course, nothing good lasts long.

The guard to his left is the first to spot them - tiny specks of something moving very, very fast on the horizon. Jarett recognizes them instantly for what they are: dragons.

“Tell everyone to get indoors or underground. Find Cassandra, tell her what’s happening. Now!” Jarett’s voice is sharp, a bark of authority. The four guards accompanying him break off - two towards the guard posts on either side of town, two towards the castle proper. Jarett breaks off at a dead sprint to the center of town, and finds Percival and Keyleth already there, helping people underground. Percival gives him a nod and an order to find Pike and assist her. Jarett runs toward the temple of Pelor, telling everyone on his way to get to the Sun Tree.

He finds Pike ushering people inside the half-renovated temple, the tiny gnome a glittering beacon in the light of day. He helps her round up the people, quieting and pacifying people as best he can. He doesn’t know if the barrier will hold up or not, but silence can only help the illusion.

Once everyone they can find is indoors, he and Pike lock the doors. He sets to quieting the men and women, reassuring them and letting them know that they’re doing everything they can. He watches Pike kneel at the center of the temple to pray, and hopes that whatever aid she’s asking for, they receive it. Were he a pious man, he’d be doing the same.

It’s a tense few minutes - every time the roar of a dragon shakes the pews, everyone freezes, not even daring to breathe. The only one daring to speak is Pike, whose prayer is barely a murmur in the near-silent space.

It feels like hours before anyone moves; Jarett knows it’s only been barely twenty minutes since the first sighting. Pike stands in the center of the temple, eyes finally flashing open. “We’re safe,” she says, and the relief that floods the room is palpable.

The woman to his right breaks into relieved sobs, and Jarett does his best to be soothing. “Thank you, thank you,” she repeats, looking between Jarett and Pike. Jarett nods, a little uncomfortable with the praise - he was only doing his job.

Pike beams up at him, holding up a fist.

He’s definitely confused, now, but when he raises his own fist, Pike taps her knuckles against his. “Good job, Jarett,” she says, and he chuckles.

“You too, ma’am.”

When she finally opens the doors after another few minutes of caution, she shoos Jarett off to go organize the guard. “I’m sure there’s plenty for you to do. Besides, I can handle this, at least. Thank you for your help.” She looks at him once, eyes almost piercing, and continues. “You’re worth more than you think, Jarett.”

Jarett swallows the lump in his throat at her words. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She smiles again, and he thinks he understands now why the townsfolk call her an angel.

* * *

 

It takes a few hours to get everyone sorted and remind them of the importance of staying low - even with the barrier active, there’s no telling what could happen. He organizes the scattered guard, getting everyone up to speed on what’s happened, and organizing more patrols. He’s in Yennen’s office, debating for the need to at least double their amount, when there’s a knock at the door. He immediately stands, moving towards the door to open it, and when he does, it’s Sherri on the other side.

Jarett’s about to offer a confused “Hello?” when she drags him out of the room by his collar with strength he didn’t know she possessed.

“I apologize for the interruption, Keeper Yennen, but I need to borrow him for a moment,” she offers. Keeper Yennen just nods, sagely face intensely amused. Jarett gets the sudden feeling that everyone around him seems to know something he doesn’t, but it’s quickly cut off by the feeling of the half-elven woman pulling him down to her eye-level by the collar after loudly slamming the door shut.

“What in the nine hells did you do.” Her voice is sharp. He suddenly understands why everyone seems to avoid her ire as best they can.

He’s about to speak, but she interrupts once more. “No - you know what? I don’t care. All I know is you need to talk to Shaun. Immediately.” Sherri lets go of his collar, and he smooths it back into place as she keeps speaking. “If you didn’t notice, there are dragons flying around. Both of you could die. All of us could.”

Her brow furrows, and her tone takes a turn from fire to something softer, something bridled with deep, abiding sadness. “He’s been hurt once, Jarett. I don’t want to see it happen again. So  _ you, _ ” she punctuates it with a finger jabbed into his chest, “will pull your head out of your ass, and figure out just exactly what it is you’re asking of him.”

Jarett opens his mouth to protest, but it dies in his throat. She’s right. Of course she is. He closes his eyes, breathes in deep, once, twice. Nods. Opens his eyes. Nods again.

“Good,” Sherri replies, satisfied for now. She gives him a final sharp look before turning and stalking back down the hall, muttering something about “damned rogues,” but it’s all he catches before he’s opening the door to Keeper Yennen’s office once again.

“Good chat?” Yennen says, mirth in his old eyes.

“...Of a sort,” Jarett responds, and dives back into business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~DOUBLE CHAPTER UPDATE~  
> dramatic dragon things happen, jarett begins the process of extricating his head from his ass, vox machina returns, pike is a Certified Angel™, and we're another chapter over and done. 
> 
> i.. hesitate to say we're nearing the end, because this was supposed to be a one-shot in my head, and now it's taking on a life of its own, but i'm thinking we've got another chapter or so in this. we're like... probably close to the end. we're getting there. possibly.
> 
> thank you to everyone whose retweeted and reblogged and supported this fic!!! i did not expect this silly little thing to get the attention it has. honestly it's kind of. amazing. a little terrifying. but definitely in a good way.
> 
> see y'all next chapter <3
> 
> chapter title from White Ferrari by Frank Ocean.


	5. i thought that i was dreaming

Just like that, Vox Machina is here and gone again - throwing themselves at the far corners of the world, only stopping long enough to make sure they don’t drown. It makes Jarett worry, but he knows they can’t stop. None of them can. Not if they all want to make it out of this alive.

So Vox Machina leaves for Wildmount and Draconia, and Jarett goes back to his regular schedule of not-avoiding-Gilmore and taking too many shifts and not sleeping enough. He’ll do what he has to. What’s best for them.

He’s run over Sherri’s words in his head a thousand times, and thought about what to do a thousand times more - he stands by it, the fact that initiating something between himself and Gilmore is ill-advised at best and downright disastrous at worst. No matter the fact that Gilmore -  _ Shaun  _ \- makes his heart flutter in his chest. No matter that he doesn’t deserve a shred of it, not his kindness, not his affection. He’s a guard. He patrols, he hunts, he organizes, but he doesn’t protect them the same way Shaun and Allura and the rest of them do. No matter that all of them might die tomorrow—

And really, that’s the one that gets him. The fact that they all might die at any moment, that one of those beasts could come and wipe them out and they’d give it a hell of a fight, sure, but they’d be  _ dead _ just the same - that’s the one that makes him pause.

Jarett’s never been in love before. His life is too much of a mess to have ever been able to keep something like  _ love _ and  _ fondness _ in it for too long. There was something like it, a long time ago, in Ank’Harel—

But that’s just what it was. A long time ago. A  _ ‘something like it’ _ .

Jarett shakes his head, clearing it of all the troubling thoughts. He looks back at the recruits in front of him, farmer’s hands and common folk, and to Kashaw, that odd cleric who’s leagues better at training these people than he is. Kashaw gives him an odd look when he catches his eyes, and arched eyebrow and frown hiding the concern that lurks behind his eyes. Jarett gives a dismissive shake of his head, and Kashaw continues barking out orders and reprimands and compliments.

He leaves Kashaw to the training and walks back to the castle, his mind still running in circles.

He’s on guard duty when he sees Vox Machina approach from the city, much earlier than he expected them. Compared to the length of their last trip, this one was practically a simple jaunt. He greets them cordially, shelving the twisting paths of his thoughts in favor of focusing on his employers.

“What can you tell us about your home?” asks Vex’ahlia, and he pauses.

It’s been near ten years since he left, and he tells them as much. He tells them everything he knows of the city; locations, leaders, how utterly terrible the Scarlet Prison is.

“Don’t steal anything,” he says, and gives a meaningful look at Vax’ildan, “unless you’re  _ damn sure _ nobody knows it.”

They ask a few more questions, mostly boiling down to old powers and walls and crypts. J’mon Sa Ord draws particular interest, and he tells them the story of the city’s supposed creation. Jarett wracks his brain, telling them everything he can think and answering questions as best he can.

“You’re sure we can’t talk you into going?” Vax’ildan asks. “Percy’s giving out titles.”

“I’m most certainly not!” Percival says, even as Jarett shakes his head.

“I’m of much more use to you here,” he assures, and chuckles.

They ask a few more questions. Jarett's trying to think of anything else he can tell them when Vax'ildan asks, “Can we bring you anything back?”

He thinks for a moment, and something crosses his mind; a taste he hasn’t had since he left the city. “There is - one thing: it’s a spice, fusaka.”

They agree to bring him back some of the spice, and they rebuff his attempt to pay for it himself; he’s reminded of why he signed on with them in the first place. They’re the best group of people he think’s he’s ever met, and he’s damn glad to call them friends.

Just before they leave, after a funny demonstration of Ank’Harel’s greeting and farewell by Vex’ahlia, Keyleth asks him, “Jarett? Keep an eye on Gilmore for us, will you?”

“Is he alright?” He’s careful to keep the panic from his voice, make it an easy inquiry rather than the sudden grip of fear that squeezes his heart in his chest.

“I think he’s... working himself a bit much,” Keyleth explains. “He may have stretched himself a bit thin.”

“I may have noticed it myself,” Jarett sighs, and agrees to keep watch over Gilmore. “I will do this for you. Promise.” Earnest feeling drips into his tone, and he nods at Keyleth’s thanks. He doesn’t miss the significant glance between her and Vax’ildan, either - it’s quick, there and gone, but it was  _ there _ .

When they leave, the six of them cheerful and bright, he thinks about how they all might die tomorrow, and how he lost Ank’Harel to his own mistakes, and how he doesn’t want to lose anything else.

* * *

 

Jarett spends his evening in the library of the castle, of all places - he grabs a plate from the kitchen and sneaks into the dimly lit, richly colored room. He sets the plate on a table and begins his search.

It takes him all of five minutes to realize that he’s getting nowhere. He’s heard tell of what the Briarwoods did to the castle, gutting the rooms and retrofitting it to their purpose, including the other libraries and studies in the building. Jarett can see it even here, where the books are in disarray, out of alphabetical order and not in any semblance of organization. He huffs and glares at the shelves like they’ve personally offended him before stalking back to the small table, where he realizes he’s been joined by another person: Zahra.

“I was wondering which poor sod had found themselves in my domain,” she says, not looking up from the book in front of her. There’s several others on the table surrounding her, and he doesn’t envy her position as researcher.

He takes a seat opposite her. “Yes, well. I was trying to find something of my own.”

“Something to read? Somehow, you don’t strike me as the  _ literati _ type. No offense. I’d much rather be hitting things with lightning, myself.” Her red lips curl into a smile, and Jarett finds himself smiling, despite himself.

“Cheers to that,” he says, and punctuates it with a sip of his ale.

They sit in silence for a long time, Jarett not bothering to try and speak while Zahra is enveloped in her reading. Eventually, she sets the book down and looks Jarett straight in the eye. “Hyacinths. Purple.”

He’s startled for a moment; he’d been looking for a book on flower language earlier, how—

“There’s precious few reasons a man who’s not a scholar would come into a library,” Zahra says, and the shock must show on his face because she laughs. “Either you’re here to find some kind of raunchy romance novel - try the third shelf in the fourth row, by the way - or you’re trying to apologize for something.” She settles back in her chair with a self-satisfied air. “They mean ‘please forgive me’ or ‘I’m sorry’, depending on who you ask.”

After a beat, she says, “There are some in the garden on the east wing. They’re usually a spring-blooming flower, but the ground there is enchanted - the flowers bloom all year.” She gives him a gentle smile. “I’m sure dear Cassie wouldn’t mind you taking a stalk or two.”

“...Thank you,” he says, too grateful and confused to say anything else.

Zahra chuckles. “You’re lucky they’re also his favorite color.” Before he can respond, she’s back to her reading, and Jarett’s left pondering why everyone else seems to know more than he does about everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for the short chapter today, but this felt like the best place to cut it so that this chapter didn't end up being 3500 words instead ;v; (im sure y'all wouldn't have minded that too much lmao)
> 
> but yes!! jarett, you're catching on. i'm glad you're on the same boat as the rest of us. also zahra knows everything. it's just who she is as a person. i love zahra. what a powerful bisexual. she can suplex me anyday, y'all.
> 
> i hope y'all liked this chapter!!! we're getting close to the end and it's makin me sad but at least these nerds will be happy soon :3
> 
> chapter title from Ivy by Frank Ocean.


	6. less morose and more present

It doesn’t take Jarett long to find the garden in the east wing; he’s almost as familiar with this castle as he was with Greyskull Keep. The ever-blooming garden is a relatively new addition, he’s been told; apparently, it was created by the Briarwoods. Cassandra doesn't like to set foot anywhere near it. He doesn’t blame her. He doesn’t know the whole story, but by the bits and pieces he’s gathered, he’s glad she escaped with her mind.

He shakes the dire thoughts from his head and pushes open the door to the greenhouse. It’s not as hot as he was expecting; a side effect of the magic, perhaps? The walls and parts of the floor are cluttered with brilliant flowers of all shapes and sizes - bushes, vines, clusters of stems and leaves. Still, he’s quick to spot the stalks of clustered blooms that rest along the far wall, nestled amongst other, more unfamiliar flowers. He carefully avoids touching any of the stranger blooms, pulling a small knife from his belt and grasping a stalk of purple hyacinths.

Just before he snips it, a voice calls from the doorway: “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

He almost drops the knife in surprise, and he quickly stands, doing an about-face with an apology ready on his tongue for Lady Cassandra, but she holds up a finger to silence him. “The flowers don’t like unfamiliar hands. Lady Delilah made them special.” She scowls at the name, but walks over to Jarett and holds a hand out, looking meaningfully at the dagger. When he drops it into her hand, she smiles.

“You’re lucky Zahra told me you were coming here. You might’ve lost a finger if you’d tried to cut that flower." Her eyes darken, and when she speaks next, there's venom in her voice. "Maybe more. Who knows exactly what that bitch did?” Cassandra spits, mouth pressed into a thin line, but it smooths. “Still, once you pick them...”

She bends down, hand careful on the blossoms, and pricks her thumb with the dagger. The drop of blood falls onto the earth, and the purple hyacinth Jarett had tried to pluck earlier almost seems to -  _ grow,  _ imperceptible unless you were watching it carefully. She pulls it up, and it snaps cleanly at the base of the stem, no dagger needed. She sniffs it once, delicately, before handing it off to Jarett. “They’re harmless after that,” she finishes.

“I’m sorry for intruding, Lady Cassandra.” He’s got enough sense to look chastised and remorseful, even with the hope in his heart.

“No need, captain. I’m glad to see these flowers be put to something worthy.” She presses the hilt of the dagger into his other hand, and closes his fingers around it with her own. Her brow furrows, and her eyes get a distant, far-off look, glazed over with memories; it’s an emotion he feels vaguely discomfitted to see, as if he’s just peeked into a room he shouldn’t have.

Still, it passes, and Cassandra looks up at Jarett with a wide smile. “Tell him to take it easy once in a while, will you? I hate to see him so overworked.”

“Of course, my lady.” He flicks the dagger downward without dislodging her hand, and brings it up to press a kiss to her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“Always the charmer. Go on, get out of here. I hate this place.” She gives a final, disdainful sniff at the room, and they walk out side by side, Cassandra glowering at the flowers until the door shuts behind them with a soft  _ click _ .

“Thank you again, my lady, I—”

“He takes his tea around this time every day. Go on, out.” She shoos him with a wave, and he chuckles.

“Was I really that obvious, my lady?”

“ _ Am. Am  _ I really that obvious. And yes. Now go, I have important things to do.” Her tone is sharp, almost imperious, but it’s undercut by the smile on her face. He gives her a final bow, and practically runs down the halls until he’s out of the castle. The sound of Cassandra’s laughter follows him all the way there.

* * *

 

He knows the path to Gilmore’s makeshift home by heart, and it takes him a handful of minutes to navigate the streets, blossoms in his hand carefully protected. He passes by Cordell once, and the wolf-whistle he gives Jarett is interrupted by a smack to the head from Shayne. Jarett laughs, and thinks once again about how Shayne is his favorite.

Still, it strikes him as soon as he raises his fist to knock on the door - what if Gilmore doesn’t want anything to do with him? He hasn’t seen Gilmore out and about for anything more than an hour at a time, and only to the castle. Jarett’s still paralyzed by indecision when the door opens of its own accord, and there’s a sleepy, slightly bedraggled Gilmore staring up at him.

The cheeriness on his face fades when he realizes who’s standing at the door. “Oh.”

Jarett swallows past the lump in his throat, and suddenly realizes he has no idea what to say. He opens his mouth once, trying to come up with something, but nothing comes to mind. Instead he holds out the single stalk of flowers and doesn’t meet Gilmore’s eyes.

“Hyacinths. They don’t even bloom in the winter. Where did you—”

“Cassandra. And Zahra.” Jarett thinks for a moment. “I’ve had a lot of help getting to this moment, actually. There’s supposed to mean ‘I’m—’”

“’I’m sorry’.” Gilmore stares down at the flowers for a moment. “I know.”

Jarett finally looks back at Gilmore, and he has to fight the impulse to wrap his arms around the other man and kiss him senseless. Those brilliant dark eyes are half-closed and watery, lips turned in a frown. “I’m sorry, Gilmore, I’m so - gods, I was an idiot. Everyone saw it but me.” Jarett’s voice is barely above a whisper, regret and sadness and hope all lingering in his tone. “I couldn’t even think, I-”

“ _ Shaun. _ ” Gilmore’s interruption is quiet. “I thought I told you to call me  _ Shaun. _ ” There’s a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, and Jarett finds that he’s smiling, too, despite himself.

“ _ Shaun, _ ” he says, reverent. “I thought I lost that privilege.”

“Now, whatever gave you that idea?” Shaun says, mirth in his voice. “I’m the only one here that can take that away, dear Jarett.” He finally looks up, meeting Jarett’s eyes. “Would you like to come in for tea?”

“ _ Gods, _ yes.”  _ More than anything, _ Jarett thinks, and Shaun offers a hand.

Jarett takes it, and they step inside.

Jarett’s taken aback by how homey the space feels; this is the first time he’s seen the inside of Shaun’s borrowed house. There’s a bookcase that seems to be permanently askew; when Shaun sees his gaze linger on it, he comments, “That’s where I slammed an assassin into the wall. Fun night, let me tell you.”

Shaun sits him at a small table in the front room before he flicks a finger at the shelf above their heads and a teacup floats down, right infront of Jarett. “Preference?”

“Whatever you’re having; I don’t want to impose—”

“Jarett, darling, I feel like you forget I’m a wizard.”

“...Black, then.”

Gilmore  _ tsk _ s, and Jarett notices that his cup is suddenly filled. “Of course you would,” he hears Shaun mutter, quiet enough that he thinks Jarett won’t hear. The hyacinth hasn’t left his hand, and he twirls it, watching the petals dance.

Jarett watches his hand twirl the stem - his wrist seems thinner than normal, and as he follows the line of his arm, he notices that everything about Shaun seems a little  _ less _ than usual. Dark smudges like bruises lay underneath his eyes, and there’s almost-permanent frown lines marring his skin. Shaun smiles when he catches Jarett staring. “See something you like, then?”

Jarett swallows. “...Are you alright, Shaun?”

Shaun’s grin turns bitter. “You’re not the first to ask.”

Jarett looks at him, trying hard to see just how much the stress of all of this - the dragons, the barrier, researching - is affecting him. “I’m serious, Shaun.”

He sighs, and sets the flower on the table. “I am, too,” he tries to joke, but it falls flat. He closes his eyes for a moment, and Jarett sees the lines of his body tense, as if he’s holding something back. “ _ You _ didn’t help, you know. Running off like that. Making me worry that I’d just lost one of the people I cared for most.”

Jarett’s guilt is a heavy, sharp-edged thing, and he feels it in his throat. “I know, Shaun; it wasn’t fair to you, I had—”

He holds his hand up for silence, and Jarett complies. “I suppose you were right, though; this is a terrible idea, what with dragons and danger and all these tensions running so high,” he says, nonchalant, and Jarett feels a part of himself break. This is exactly what he deserves, he knows, and the pain of that truth is sharper than any blade.

Just as Jarett opens his mouth to speak, Shaun cracks his eyes open and speaks again. “Of course, never let it be said that we always did the  _ smart _ thing.” He punctuates it with a wink, and picks up his tea to sip at it delicately.

Jarett’s mouth hangs open. “Are you really—”

“You really are slow on the uptake, aren’t you?” he teases, and he sets his tea aside before leaning across the small table, close enough to reach out and grab Jarett by the collar, which he does; Jarett lets himself be led. It’s like that moment in the kitchens, and yet not - now, it finally seems like both parties are on the same page.

“We can talk it all out later, you oaf,” Shaun says, and his breath is close enough to feel on Jarett’s lips. “But  _ yes, _ Jarett. I  _ am. _ ”

The table bites into his stomach uncomfortably, and his arm twinges at the awkward positioning to keep him up, but - the kiss is gentle, careful, like Shaun is drawing Jarett out of a cage of his own devising by degrees. 

His tongue teases against the line of Jarett’s lips, and he lets him deepen the kiss; lets Shaun lead him wherever he will take him; would follow him wherever he was, would never take a second look back, because if this is where it will lead, right here with him, he will always go gladly. Jarett’s other hand reaches up to cradle the back of Shaun’s head, and he feels him sigh that much further into the kiss.

Shaun breaks away first, breathing in deep lungfuls of air, eyes still closed. Jarett’s eyes are wide, and he can’t seem to stop smiling while he looks at Shaun catch his breath.

“...You’re very good at that,” Jarett mutters, and Shaun laughs.

“This table is uncomfortable, and my arm’s getting tired,” Shaun states, blunt, and Jarett chuckles. He stands, feeling Shaun’s hand slip from his collar.

“I hate to be so forward, but I have an idea of a more comfortable place...” Jarett’s eyes dart towards the curtain separating the front room from the rest of the house, and Shaun smiles.

“Scandalous, dear captain,” he says, dramatics coloring his voice, and then deflates a little. “I’m afraid I might fall asleep within the hour if I laid down right now.”

Jarett laughs. “I’ve been told I’m a very good guard.” He offers his hand to Shaun, who looks up at him with a faint grin on his face. “I can always watch over you in your sleep.”

“My own personal guardian angel,” Shaun says, and takes his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE MADE IT, BOIS. WE DID IT. WE'RE HERE. LOOK AT THESE SOFT BOYS™ AND THEIR IMPORTANT HAND TOUCHES, IM SO PROUD>
> 
> anyway
> 
> more o’ dees Soft Boys, because i really, really love them, and i wanna get this story done for all y’all. seriously, y’all’s support of this and me have been amazing, and i’m so grateful for every kudos, bookmark, comment, reply, reblog, like; i’m honestly floored by how positive the response to this has been. that being said, we’ve probably got one more chapter in this, so be ready! 
> 
> chapter title from Siegfried by Frank Ocean.


	7. you'll have this place to call home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rating bump to teen for some soft morning kisses between these two sweet boys.

Jarett wakes, languid and sleep-slow, in a mound of blankets and pillows with vived colors muted by the grey morning light that seeps in from the window. The usual Whitestone night’s chill hasn’t wormed its way into the room; Jarett largely attributes that to the warm body pressed tight against him.

He breathes in deep, arm tightening ever so slightly around Shaun’s soft, rounded middle; the scent of rosewater and cinnamon is a comfort he thought he’d never get, and yet — here they are: Shaun’s hair splayed on the pillow, legs twined, Jarett’s arm slightly numb where it lays underneath the pillow and Shaun’s head. He closes his eyes, not wanting to fall back asleep, just - experiencing. Thinking about how long it took him to get here. Thinking about how he never, ever wants to leave.

It’s a long moment of Jarett basking in the slow-breaking silence of the steadily waking world, listening to the birdsong that drifts through the glass window, before Shaun stirs in his arms, shifting and turning to face him. Even freshly woken, he is beautiful, smudged kohl around his eyes and pinpricks of sleep in the corners, and it steals Jarett’s breath.

“Good morning,” he says, and presses a soft, lazy kiss to Shaun’s mouth. He can feel Shaun smile into it and doesn’t stop his own smile from spreading across his lips.

“Well. If I could be woken like this every morning, I’d be a lucky man, indeed,” Shaun sighs, and Jarett watches as Shaun’s hand reaches up and rests on the center of his naked chest, not moving, just feeling. Jarett understands the feeling; just wanting to be present in the moment, experience it and hold it in your mind with cupped hands, never letting it drop.

“I think I could do that,” Jarett grins, and then his tone becomes light, teasing. “You’ll have to deal with me coming home at odd hours; I take night patrol quite a lot.” He leans in and kisses Shaun again, and again, just because he can.

“I’ll try not to miss you too much, then, dear captain. You’re a very busy man.” Shaun chuckles. “I’ll make sure the bed is always warm.”

“I- you know I don’t think of you as just - someone to keep the bed warm, Shaun, I—”

“You think too much, Jarett,” he says, and Shaun presses him back into the pillows with a kiss as he moves to straddle Jarett’s hips, a hand on either side of Jarett’s face. There’s the faintest brush of stubble on Jarett’s cheeks, and Shaun grins. “I wonder what you’d look like with a beard,” he muses before peppering Jarett’s jawline with kisses.

“Utterly - terrible,” he groans, hissing under his breath when Shaun leans down to bite a mark into his collarbone. He soothes it with his tongue in apology, but Jarett can feel him smile into his skin, the bastard. “Tried it once,” he continues, breath catching every time Shaun bites another mark into his collarbone, “came in all patchy and unkempt - made me look like a vagabond.”

“I’m sure it made you very rogueish, darling,” he teases, and Jarett guides Shaun back up with a gentle hand on his chin and the promise of a kiss.

They stay just like that for a long while, the languid lines of their bodies pressed against each other, warding off the chill by staying underneath the blankets and keeping close, learning the lines of each other’s bodies; Shaun’s hands are everywhere on him, and it feels like he’s been branded every time Shaun presses his fingers into his skin. He discovers a spot just behind Shaun’s ear that makes him gasp when he presses his lips to it, and files that information away for later. Shaun finds a spot on his left side that gives him fits of laughter, and he is merciless in abusing his newfound knowledge.

Eventually, they tire of kissing, and Shaun flops down onto Jarett’s chest, ear pressed against his heartbeat. Jarett rubs soothing circles into Shaun’s back with one hand and twines their fingers together with the other.

“I’ll have to get up soon,” Jarett says, and makes no move to do so. If he could have it his way, he wouldn’t move for the next hour, the next  _ week _ . He’d put this whole dragon business on hold until he’s had his fill of the glorious wizard laying on his chest.

Shaun sighs. “I suppose I’ll have to do my part as well,” he mutters. Shaun looks up at Jarett, baring the column of his throat, and the faint dark marks blooming there send a thrill of satisfaction down his spine. “Would you mind staying, for a moment, after I cast the ritual? It’s - incredibly taxing, and I—”

A knock at the door startles them both, and Jarett instantly starts moving, gently pushing Shaun back into the bed, even against his protestations.

“I can get it, you oaf, I’m not infirm—”

“I know you’re not, Shaun, but I’m getting the door anyway.”

Shaun falls back into the pillows with a huff, but Jarett doesn’t miss the small smile on his lips - nor does he miss the appreciative glance Shaun throws his way when he stands fully, stretching onto his tiptoes to work the last of the kinks out of his back. Jarett winks when he catches him, and Shaun laughs.

Jarett grabs his leggings from the floor and pulls them on quickly, walking to the front door with bare feet and a bare chest. He feels the chill in the air now, sensitive to the cold after being so warm. He opens the door quickly, and instantly pulls his arms around himself as more cold air breezes in. “Good morning, Shaun - Gilmore - is a bit indisposed right now; I can get him if you —” Jarett starts, but his mouth stops when he notices that it’s Ladies Allura and Kima standing before him, still both in their traveling cloaks, along with a stout dwarven man he can only assume is Drake.

Kima’s barely holding back a laugh - as it is, her face is contorted into a strange half-pained grin with the effort. Allura, ever the lady, is simply smiling, though her eyes glitter with mischief. Drake looks rather bored, and Jarett is infinitely thankful that the dwarf seems not to care.

“Good morning, Jarett,” Allura says, and Jarett almost wants to melt into the floor. Kima just nods, not trusting herself to speak. “I just wanted to tell our dear Gilmore that we’ve all returned safe and sound, but I’m sure you can relay that message to him. I’m sure he’ll be relieved to not have the weight of the barrier solely on his shoulders anymore.”

Jarett just nods, awkward. “He’ll be pleased to hear you’ve all returned safely, Lady Allura. Did you find anything on the dragon, ma’am?”

Kima almost snickers, but reels it in at the last second. Allura gives Kima a look, shaking her head with a smile, and turns back to Jarett. “Nothing that can’t wait, Captain,” she says, giving him an out like the saint she is.

“I’ll see you all over breakfast, then?”

Allura nods an affirmative, and waves goodbye as she ushers Kima and Drake away from the door. He hears Kima shout, “Don’t take too long, loverboy!” just before quickly shutting the door. Even through the thick wood, he can hear Kima’s cackles. He stands silent for a moment, the embarrassment washing over him like a cold bucket of water.

He pads back to the bedroom where Shaun waits, already sitting up against the headboard, pillows tucked behind him for support. He looks almost painting perfect, like the picture of domesticity, and Jarett wants to live in this moment with him forever.

“Who was it at the door?” Shaun asks, pulling him out of his reverie.

“Ladies Allura and Kima, and their companion Drake.” Shaun sags, visibly relieved, and Jarett continues. “They wanted to inform you of their safe return, and request your presence at breakfast to tell you what they’d found.”

“Breakfast, hmm?” Shaun hums, and shuffles over when Jarett slides back under the blankets, joining him against the headboard. “I don’t suppose they could wait a few minutes for us, you think?”

Jarett’s grin widens. “Whatever you think is best, O Glorious Gilmore.”

“I thought I told you to call me Shaun,” he mutters, and Jarett presses a kiss to his lips.

“ _ Shaun _ ,” Jarett murmurs, reverence and love and hope all wrapped up in that single syllable, and kisses him again and again and again.

* * *

 

They arrive last to breakfast together, hands clasped, and when they sit down beside each other, Zahra gives Jarett a wink.  _ Good job, _ she mouths from across the table, and Jarett gives her a thumbs up. Cassandra does nothing except extend a cordial “good morning” to them both, though the grin on her face says she’d like to say much more.

Kima, however, has no such compunctions about tact and grace. “It’s about fucking time you two got your shit together,” she laughs. Allura immediately shushes her with a “Dear, please,” but turns to face the two of them.

“What she  _ means _ to say is we’re glad the two of you worked it out. We’re all very happy for you.” Allura smiles, and Jarett suddenly doesn’t want to die quite as much as he did earlier.

“Here, here,” Zahra chimes in, and raises her cup. Cassandra smiles that inscrutable smile, and raises hers as well. Around the table, each glass raises, until Jarett and Shaun are the only ones left.

Jarett feels his pulse in his throat and heat in his cheeks, but Shaun’s hand still holding his underneath the table grounds him. “Thank you all. I - appreciate it. Immensely.” They both raise their glasses.

“To new beginnings,” Shaun says, and presses a kiss to Jarett’s cheek.

“Now,” Kima says, after they’ve all drank, “when are you two figuring  _ your _ shit out, Zahra? Cassandra?” She points a finger at them from her place a little ways down the table, and Cassandra blushes furiously.

Jarett laughs as Zahra reaches for her wand, even as Kima smiles devilishly and reaches for her shield. Shaun’s hand is a warm weight in his palm, and he instinctively tightens his grip for just a moment; a second later, Shaun does the same, and Jarett smiles.

“To new beginnings, indeed,” he mumbles, and presses his own kiss to Shaun’s cheek.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE DID IT, OH MY GOD
> 
> can i just say that i am floored, once again, by the love this fic has gotten?? it all started as a silly one-shot that i didn't even know if I was gonna continue, and now here we are, 10000 words later, with these soft, sweet boys and a story i'm glad to have shared with all of you. thank you, so much, for being there every step of the way!!! i hope you enjoyed this (frankly, ridiculous) journey with me! if you wanna see more of my writing, you can always check back here on the archive or on my writing blog, [kaytewrites!](http://kaytewrites.tumblr.com) i also have a personal blog, [ppepperbox!](http://ppepperbox.tumblr.com) come talk to me about sweet boys and dragons. please. i love talking about dragons.
> 
> chapter title from Godspeed by Frank Ocean.


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